


in the shape of you

by mellyflori



Series: we send starships [4]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 06:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10985490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellyflori/pseuds/mellyflori
Summary: “What did you two decide?”“That what Athos really wants is for us to magically have a place that’s big enough for all of us and our stuff and doesn’t have bookcases with crown molding.”“Okay, let’s do that then.”





	in the shape of you

**Author's Note:**

> I have prompts waiting and a chapter of Crusaders half finished, but there was a request for this, and I loved the idea too much to resist. Dovetails between the original ["we send starships"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3174412) and ceeturnalia's ["kairos and logos"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3384047) and it would be easiest to understand this if you read at least one if not both. If you're not in the mood to read either, grab me on [the tumbls](http://werebearbearbar.tumblr.com) and I'll give you the quick and dirty version.

_This hole in my heart is in the shape of you. No one else can fit it. Why would I want them to?_

-Jeanette Winterson

~

 

**To Start**  
_2br, 2ba, 1134sq ft, open loft space, new kitchen appliances, large soaking tub_

 

"Is there a particular reason why the books can't go back into the boxes?" Athos is looking down at Aramis where he sits cross-legged on the floor in the midst of piles of books, flipping through a biography of I.M. Pei.

"I keep meaning to, but every time I try there's another one I want to take out."

Aramis hasn’t been in Los Angeles long, it’s only been three months since Porthos and Athos kissed for the first time in this life and brought them all together again, and he’s spent that time bouncing back and forth between Porthos’ small bungalow and Athos’ airy little loft. With no place of his own, he left most of his things in St. Louis with his sister, he brought only the necessities.

There is only one bag of clothes, one small box of pictures and papers he thinks he might need when he goes to find work, but even with his best efforts at minimalist living, he still brought two boxes of books. Right now the majority of them are stacked up around Aramis like he’s nesting in them. Athos sighs. It's not news to any of them that Aramis loves books. Aramis has loved books in every lifetime he could afford them. When they worked on the cathedral together, Aramis had owned two, more precious to him than gold, and he'd kept them wrapped in linen and out of the light unless he was reading them.

Athos cards his fingers through Aramis’ hair, thinking how it’s always so soft. Even in those lifetimes when they find themselves at sea or covered in plaster dust, Aramis’ hair always feels so good. “I’m sorry I’m taking up all the shelving.”

Aramis pushes his head up into Athos’ hand and smiles. Athos isn’t taking up all the shelving, strictly speaking. There’s plenty of space. It’s just that there’s also a system to how the books are arranged. Aramis knows there’s a system, which is why he hasn’t put any of his books on the shelves yet. “It’s okay,” he says, and it is.

“We could get new shelves.” Porthos walks out of the bathroom in a puff of steam. He’s wearing boxer briefs and his towel slung around his neck and nothing else. It takes the other two a minute to respond. They’d combine forces and push him back into the bedroom, have their way with him and spend the afternoon in a sated, happy tangle of limbs, but they know he’s working tonight.

“Where would we put shelves?” Aramis asks.

Porthos shrugs. “There’s room in the back bedroom. Not a lot of room, but plenty for a bookcase that will fit what’s in that box.”

Athos bends to kiss Aramis. “We’ll go find something this weekend.”

“It’s a date.”

Slinging his towel around Athos’ neck, Porthos pulls him close for a kiss of his own. “Have a good day," Athos says. "Don’t kill anyone.”

 

The Ikea in Burbank is the largest in the country, and on a Saturday morning, every inch of it is a Hell on Earth. Porthos has long since wandered off to look at kitchen implements, but Athos has finally corralled Aramis away from investigating every brightly colored knick-knack tucked into a display so they can get on with why they came. They’re standing in front of a row of bookcases, and while Aramis would happily take any of them, Athos is surprisingly picky for someone who would sell a kidney to get out of this building.

“This one?”

“No. It looks flimsy, and you deserve something nicer.”

“Okay. The white one is nice.”

“It would be, but the beadboard in the back makes it look like we stole it from some shabby chic beach house photo shoot.”

Aramis groans. “Okay, black then. How about the black?”

“You can have the black one if you can explain to me why a bookcase needs crown molding.”

“Athos, why do you care? It’s not going in your room, it’s going in mine, you’ll barely have to see it!”

“That’s not your room!”

Aramis draws back like he’s been struck.

“I don’t mean it like that.” Athos grabs at his hand. “I don’t want it to be your room because I don’t want you that far away.” Aramis’ anger leaves him all at once. Athos draws him closer, and Aramis drops his head to Athos’ shoulder. “Having the second bedroom that far away is fine if it’s guests or friends, but not when it’s you. Not when it’s either of you. I’ve spent too much of this lifetime without you both to be content you clear across the apartment.”

Aramis meets his eyes again. “We both know there’s not enough space in your room. And it’s worse at Porthos’ place.”

As if summoned, Porthos walks up to them with a stock pot in one hand and a pack of bright green dish towels in the other. “What did you two decide?”

“That what Athos really wants is for us to magically have a place that’s big enough for all of us and our stuff and doesn’t have bookcases with crown molding.”

“Okay, let’s do that then.”

“What?” Athos stares at him.

“My place isn’t big enough, Athos’ place isn’t big enough, and we’ve worked too hard for too many lives to have to sleep apart if we don’t want to. Let’s find someplace new. Someplace for all of us. And Athos can put perfect built-in bookcases in there if he wants.”

Aramis takes Porthos’ face in his hands, pulling him close for a loud, smacking kiss.

Athos smiles. “I have the card for the agent I worked with when I bought the loft, I’ll call him tomorrow."

 

**One**  
_3br, 2ba, 1921sq ft, city views, opportunity for expansion_

 

“The real selling point here,” John tells them, “is that there are four more lots adjoining, and they’re all available. You have real potential to either develop the land or maintain the landscape as it is."

Aramis is staring at the bougainvillea vines growing over the archway of the front gate. “I like it,” he says.

“Is the only parking on-street?” Porthos asks.

It’s been like this for a week now. Aramis loves the potential of each place, but he’s always the one who finds it most wanting in the end. Porthos asks about practicalities, and he cares about the kitchens. Athos wants privacy. That’s all he seems to care about. That and the happiness of the other two.

They’re comfortable with each other, they’ve had a thousand years of practice, but they’re still working through how to be together in this world. Still, John figures out they’re romantically involved within the first hour.

“Do we need to be more discreet?” Porthos asks.

Athos shakes his head. “It’s his job to read people, to know what drives them and what they want."

John shows them each bedroom, the bathrooms, he tells them about the extra storage in the basement, and then he leaves them alone. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you have questions.”

Porthos joins Aramis at the railing along the back deck. The hills in the distance will surely pick up the pinks of the sunset and be the perfect backdrop for an outdoor dinner.

“Hell of a view."

Aramis turns and looks at the lines of Porthos’ face, kisses his cheek. “This one’s better.”

“You don’t like the place?"

“It’s fine. I just think we deserve better than ‘fine’ for our home."

“The kitchen is nice.”

“When you stand in it, do you imagine us there as old men, you holding out a spoonful of something for Athos to taste?"

Porthos shakes his head. “No."

Athos joins them. “Then we keep looking.” He puts his hand on Porthos’ neck and tugs him down to kiss the top of his head. “I’ll go tell John."

 

  
**Two**  
_6br, 6ba, 3973sq ft, guest house/studio space over garage, custom stonework in kitchen_

 

“Should we leave you two alone?"

Porthos turns to Athos. “What?"

“Would you and that refrigerator like a few minutes alone together? I haven’t seen you stare at anything with that much bliss since the first time you had ice cream."

Aramis puts a hand up. “In Porthos’ defense, it was really good ice cream. And it was 1715, none of us had eaten anything like it before."

Porthos is staring at the refrigerator again. “I wonder how much of it you could put in that freezer?”

Athos huffs a laugh and takes Aramis by the hand. “We’re going to go look at the rest of the rooms with John while you see if the rest of the kitchen is up to your standards.” He traces his thumb over Aramis’ knuckles. “Come on."

The centerpiece of the home is the great open space on the top floor. Dark wood ceilings give the huge area an intimate feeling, and the river rock fireplace surround keeps the darkness from feeling cold.

“It’s a lovely area for entertaining,” John says. “With no wall between here and the dining area, it’s very open."

“We don’t entertain much,” Athos says.

“We could!”

Athos looks at him, and Aramis shrugs. “You’re right. We could, but we won’t.” He kisses Athos’ knuckles. “I’m going to go look at the bedrooms."

John watches Aramis leave before turning to Athos.

“I feel I ought to apologize for our indecisiveness.”

“No,” John says. “Your job isn’t to make me happy, and my job isn’t to make you happy.” Athos frowns. “To say I should make you happy always sounds like I’ll say whatever I have to. No, my job is to keep finding places for you until you all agree it’s the perfect one.” He smiles at Athos. “In a business built on word of mouth, it does me no good to sell you a house you won’t like living in. Besides, the couple my wife is out with today is going into their sixth week. She’ll keep trying, and so will we."

“Admirable patience,” Athos says.

“She’s a rare woman, I’m lucky. In fact, if we’re still looking after today, you’ll get to meet her. I’ve got to be at an event next weekend, so she’ll show you any properties you want to see then."

Porthos comes up the stairs. “That kitchen is incredible.” He drops his arm around Athos’ waist and tugs him close. His thumb tucks into the waistband of Athos’ jeans. “Still, I don’t know how I feel about carrying all the dishes up and down these stairs."

“We’ve a bigger problem than that.” Aramis is standing in the hallway, one hand braced on either side of the doorjamb, leaning forward into the living room. He looks at John and chews at his lip, trying to find a polite way to put this. “We appear to have a fundamental incompatibility with our non-negotiable furnishings."

Well. That’s that then. They can’t buy this house if not a single one of the bedrooms is big enough for a bed that will fit all of them.

 

**Three**  
_4br, 4ba, 3586sq ft, heated pool, citrus trees_

 

They sit in the car, parked at the curb, the engine idling, while they wait for John's wife to arrive.

"I'm not saying it's not pretty, I’m only noticing how close it is to the neighbors.” Athos is looking out the side window at the oddly placed concrete stanchions. The pale gray of the house’s exterior paired with the off-white of the balcony railings and fencing gives the entire lot a feeling of being washed out.

Aramis opens his mouth to say something about the brickwork, but he’s interrupted by the arrival of a navy blue SUV. The woman who gets out of it is slight and blonde, and she smiles kindly at them as they approach her to shake hands. Anna calls them each by name, and Athos wonders what John has told her about them all. There isn’t a hint of judgment in her eyes when she says, “Let’s go see if this place is home for you all.”

She heads down the walk to the front of the house and Aramis is right behind her. Porthos goes to follow but sees that Athos is still staring at the house from the street.

Athos pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know. I know. We need to do this. We need a home.”

Porthos drapes his arm over Athos’ shoulders. “Today is our last day. If we don’t find the right one, we’ll go see the architect Aramis found, and talk to her about making something that works. For today let’s just keep an open mind. This place might surprise us.”

It doesn’t, at least not in a good way.

“Is it me,” Aramis says, “or is this house almost…”

“Too big?” Porthos finishes for him.

“Exactly, my Porthos. Some spaces should stay as two rooms. This just feels cavernous and cold.”

Porthos frowns. “Can someone explain the steel walls in the entryway? And why are all the cabinets in the kitchen gray?”

Athos walks up behind them. “All the cabinets in all the bathrooms are gray, too.”

Aramis looks out the windows to the back yard. “But the pool is beautiful, and I love the lemon trees. We can repaint. We can take out the metal walls.”

“Let’s go then,” Athos says, “and see this pool that might be enough to get you to overlook everything else.”

It really is lovely. There’s a huge patio room, on the lower floor and the pool is visible from inside the floor-to-ceiling glass walls. The color of the pool itself makes the water a perfect blue, but from inside everything looks clinical. “Come outside and look at the yard,” Aramis says.

The air outside is heavy with the scent of citrus, warm from the sun, and even Porthos, the most dubious of all of them at this point, smiles. Aramis gestures at the palm trees at the back border of the property. “A little oasis for us,” he says. There’s a strange brightness to his eyes, and Athos takes him by the elbow.

“What’s wrong?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Usually you’re the one who talks us out of compromising. You remind us that the house will be for all of us and it should make us feel welcome and safe or some other bullshit.” Aramis frowns, but Athos keeps going. “Right now you’re trying to talk all of us, including yourself, into settling for the least suitable house we’ve seen so far.” He tilts Aramis’ face up. “What’s in your head?”

Aramis turns his head from Athos’ touch. He rakes his fingers through his hair and starts pacing the length of the pool. “This was the wrong solution. You love your loft, and Porthos loves his bungalow, you’ve made them your own. I should find a place for myself, and we can just move between them until something perfect comes along. If anyone should know to trust in fate, it’s us, right?” His laughter sounds a little frantic.

“Well for that to work, you’d have to get a job.” Aramis’ tone is dry as dust, but there’s a smile behind his eyes.

“Do you think I won’t?”

Athos grips Aramis by the arm. “Of course you will. This isn’t about that. Aramis, I know your faces. I know your heart.” He sighs. "This is partly my fault, I should have seen this coming. It’s always like this when you’re the last to be found.”

“Like…?”

Athos searches his face. “You’re anxious, perhaps a little desperate. You always worry we’ll resent you interrupting our lives."

There’s something almost hopeful in his tone when Aramis asks, “What comes next?”

"Porthos usually does something suitably dramatic to snap you out of it."

"Suitably drama—“ Anything else is lost as Athos pushes him backward into the pool.

When Aramis surfaces, coughing, Athos is still standing beside the water, his hands in his pockets and a serene look on his face. He’s been joined by Porthos by the time Aramis drags himself to the edge and stares up at him. “What the _fuck_?”

“Porthos was clear over there,” Athos jerks his thumb in the direction of the lemon trees. “I took the initiative.” He holds out a hand to pull Aramis up.

Anna strides out across the yard to them, her eyes on her phone. When she’s about ten feet away, she looks up and sees the three of them. Athos looks as neutral as he possibly can; Porthos is dragging his thumb over his lip and trying to look apologetic while still absolutely unashamed of their behavior. Aramis is wringing the tails of his shirt out; a puddle is forming around his feet. Both Athos and Porthos are pretending not to notice the way his shirt clings to his shoulders and the way his jeans are molded to his thighs, how the water droplets track down his neck. They're not succeeding. She doesn’t bat an eyelash.

“I’ve just been checking listings, and there is an open house not far from here I think we should add to the agenda. And based on how you felt about the kitchen here, I feel safe striking the next two houses from our list. I need to swing by the office to get details on the open house. Shall I text you the address and meet you there in a couple of hours?” It’s exactly enough time for them to drive home and get dry clothes for Aramis, a fact that is lost on none of them.

 

**Four**  
_4br, 4ba, 3481sq ft, stunning views of the Hollywood sign, chef’s kitchen recently updated_

 

“What I should have said—“

“Instead of pushing me into the pool.”

“— is that we still have plenty of options. You found a great architect, if nothing we see today or tomorrow is what we want, we’ll call Connie on Monday and start fresh.” Athos is leaning against the doorway to the bathroom in his loft, watching Aramis towel his hair dry. Water is still dripping onto Aramis’ bare shoulders, trailing down his back, bumping over every muscle and sliding down the back of his jeans, and it’s a good thing Porthos can’t see it, or they’d never make it to the open house.

“I know it’s foolish to think somehow our lives are on hold until we find a place. I know it’s just a building.” He tugs a t-shirt on over his head just as Porthos comes up behind Athos in the doorway. He drops a kiss onto Athos’ shoulder.

“When we get it, our home together will be a place where we can make memories together that we can remember next time, yeah?” Porthos says. “But we’re making memories no matter what, babe.” He takes a bite of the apple in his hand and chews. He starts ticking off on his fingers. “Ships. Tents. Stables. That place in Ravenna that had the painted tiles. Over that whorehouse in Lincoln.”

Aramis stops grooming his beard and stares at Porthos.

“I think,” Porthos says around another bite of the apple, “that we never put being us on hold just because we were sleeping somewhere that wasn’t a palace.”

“Did we ever have a palace?” Athos passes Aramis his belt.

Aramis frowns. “Maybe the first place? I-- I don’t remember as much about the first place as the others.” As his hair dries it's curling at the tips. There's a twist of it over one eye until he puffs it away with a breath.

“Me either,” Porthos says. “Ah!” He thumps Aramis on the chest. “That one time in Spain. That counts as a palace.”

Aramis rubs his chest. “That was just a big villa.”

“No, the other time in Spain.”

Athos’ eyebrows go up. “Oh yes, now I remember.”

“My point being,” another bite of apple. “My point being, I don’t care how nice our lives are before we find each other, it’s never as good as after. No matter where we are. It’s us. It’s all of us. The lifetimes where we don’t find one it always feels like someone tore off a piece of my heart. We’re in this together. We’re always in this together.”

Aramis finishes buckling his belt and tugs his shoes on. He shoots a stern look at Athos. “That was more effective that pushing me in the pool.”

Athos somehow gives a full-body shrug using only his face.

 

When they pull up to the open house, Anna is standing in front of the garage with a sheaf of papers in her hand. She passes them each a sheet.

“Here are the details on the house. I’m going to let you go through on your own for a while. The seller’s agent is in there if you have questions. Text me when you’re finished, and I’ll meet you out here to talk about where to go next.” She’s all business, but warm enough to not come off as brusque. Athos imagines that she and John probably bring out the humor in each other.

Alone in the driveway, the three of them take in the view. The city stretches out below them, and behind the house, the hills rise steeply, the Hollywood sign nestled in among the trees and scrub. There are huge trees in the backyard, and the front door is a bright, peacock blue.

Aramis squeezes Porthos’ hand. “I have a good feeling about this place."

 

The seller’s agent is charming and friendly. Aramis flirts with her as she shows them into the kitchen, but if she says anything back, he doesn’t notice, he’s busy staring out the back windows to the yard and the pool. “It’s perfect,” he says, his voice a breath.

“It is, isn’t it?” Porthos is talking to Aramis, but he’s staring at the stove. His eyes are taking in every bit of the kitchen, imagining how he’ll stand here making things to feed his loves.

Athos raises their joined hands to his mouth and kisses Porthos right at the base of his thumb. “I’m going to look around.” Maybe he doesn’t notice how fond his voice sounds, maybe he doesn’t care.

They’re in the house for more than an hour, every room is amazing, and even the things they’d change make the place feel more like one they could call home.

“That chandelier is awful,” Athos says.

“We’ll have fun finding something perfect,” Aramis says, kissing his cheek.

Nina, the seller’s agent, hasn’t made any move to shoo them out, so none of them realizes the open house has ended until the owner comes home.

“Excuse me a moment,” she says to Porthos and Athos after the front door slams shut.

The young man who comes into the kitchen with her when she returns is warm and polite, with a brilliant smile, dark hair, and the saddest eyes Athos has ever seen. When they talk about him later, Porthos will indulge in a rare moment of poetry and describe the man as “breathtaking.” He won’t be wrong.

Aramis is the last to meet the owner, barreling back into the house in a burst of enthusiasm about the landscaping. He takes one look at the man and feels a hitch of something strange in his chest. He tries to brush it off as surprise at seeing a stranger, or perhaps just pleasure at seeing a beautiful man, but he knows that’s not right. Curious, Aramis steps closer, further into this man’s space than he normally would. There’s something about him.

Fifteen minutes later, after a flurry of enthusiastic admiration, conversational missteps, and uncomfortable awkwardness, the three of them find themselves in Athos' car again.

“I think we can tell Anna we don’t need to see any more places, right?” Porthos looks back and forth between them.

“I agree,” Athos says. After a moment of silence, he nudges Aramis who is staring out the window, looking back up at the house.

“What?”

“Do you want to see any more houses?” Porthos asks.

“No,” he says. “No, this is a… a perfect fit.” He runs his thumbnail over one eyebrow. “We should come back tomorrow, though.”

“To apologize, if nothing else,” Athos says.

“Try and make things right,” Porthos says.

Athos squeezes Aramis’ knee. This place is it. They all know it, and they all think they know why. They’re wrong, they’ll find out soon enough, but the truth of the matter still remains: something in that house feels like home.

 

Back at Athos’ loft, Aramis is absently running his fingers over the spines of books and putting them back in boxes. There’s no method to his action, he’s probably not even aware he’s doing it.

Athos leans against the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed and hipshot. He’s watching Aramis with all the attention Aramis isn’t giving to his books.

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”

Aramis’ ears go pink. “No.”

“And yet you don’t even wonder who I’m referring to.”

A pause from Aramis. “How did you know?”

Silence for a moment and then, “He looks like I used to feel."

“Meaning what? Lost or…?”  
  
Athos scrubs his hand over his forehead. “I don’t even know. Maybe he looks like he knows he’s living half a life, but he can’t figure out how to make it whole."

Porthos comes up behind Athos, sliding his hand over Athos’ shoulder. “He did just lose his dad."

Tilting his head to the side, Athos presses his cheek against Porthos’ knuckles. “That’s probably it."

With a soft sigh, Porthos kisses the top of his head.

Wiping his palms on his jeans, Aramis stands. “Let’s go get dinner somewhere.”

Athos hums an agreement.

Porthos squeezes Athos’ neck. “We can figure out how to apologize for stepping in it today.” Athos winces at the memory of the man’s expression as he struggled to find a way to explain why he was selling the house. The way his face had crumpled.

 

Aramis pushes his potatoes around his plate. “I only said he doesn’t seem like the fancy present kind of guy.”

“It’s not fancy,” Porthos points with his fork. “It’s just nice.”

“This isn’t a bribe, Porthos, and I don’t want it to look like one. I want it to look like we’re sorry we made what is already a rough time for him even harder.” Aramis turns to get a second opinion. “Athos. _Athos_.”

Athos raises his head slowly, blinking, and it’s clear he hasn’t heard a word they’ve said. “Hmm?”

“Where were you?”

Porthos grins. “He’s still trying to figure out why we all care so much.”

Athos’ eyebrows draw together. “Hazard of longevity, I suppose. When was the last time the universe, or any of the ineffable beings who control it, put anything in our lives by accident?” He rolls his glass of water between his hands and feels the condensation cover his palms. “I’m not talking about the lights all going the right way when you’re driving home, I’m talking about my favorite singer at just the right jazz club last life, or Aramis picking your ship to stow away on when he had the whole dockyard to choose from.”

“The first cathedral you did on our own,” Aramis says. “You could have ended up in any parish, so many cities were clamoring for you. Still, you ended up in mine.”

Their eternal pragmatist sips his beer and rolls the bottom edge of the bottle against the table. “Right, but what about all the times things happened that _were_  just chance? The time I picked a red car instead of a black one or how some lives Aramis likes wine and some lives he likes beer?” Porthos shrugs. "Plenty of things in our lives are decided by us and by simple chance. Plenty of decisions don’t bring us any closer to anything.”

Aramis gestures with his own bottle, “I feel I should point out, the lives where I like wine are the ones where I can afford decent vintages.”

“You could afford better vintages this time if you’d get a damn job,” Porthos has one eyebrow cocked, but there’s no malice in his tone.

Athos looks up at them both, his hair is in one eye and Aramis’ fingers twitch to reach across and tuck it behind his ear. “Right now… do you feel like you did before you picked the red car? Or do you feel like you did before you booked Bessie in that club?”

Porthos’ only answer is a deep sigh and another pull on his beer. Aramis nods and absently forks some broccoli into his mouth.

They’re all still caught in their own thoughts when the server comes to take their plates.

 

Eventually, Aramis talks Porthos into letting him buy a couple of bottles of decent wine for them to take as a peace offering. There were other ideas from Porthos, of course, but none that could be executed in the time they have, and Aramis thinks that’s for the best. He remembers the way d’Artagnan had sounded talking about his family and the house, like the things that mattered weren’t those that could be bought. Aramis knows how he feels.

He’s still thinking about that when they’re in line to check out. Grabbing Porthos by the collar of his t-shirt, Aramis pulls him close and kisses him more deeply than is strictly appropriate for the express lane at the grocery store. Beside them, Athos chuckles until Aramis quiets him too with a kiss.

Resting his forehead against Athos’, Aramis smiles. They’re so close that Athos can feel the smile against his mouth. “I love you,” Aramis says. “I love you so much I even love the things I hate about you.”

“Now you’re being ridiculous. There’s nothing you hate about us,” Porthos says.

Athos looks up at him. “Says the man who puts the empty milk carton back in the refrigerator.”

Handing the money over to the cashier, Porthos shoots a dirty look over his shoulder. “Hey, no one asked you.”

Aramis is right, though, and Porthos knows it. He thinks about it as they’re walking back out to Athos’ car, about how good things still are after so many centuries, so many lives. The things that don’t mesh perfectly are part of what keeps them fascinated with each other in every lifetime. He thanks the fates, the stars, anyone who is listening, for all the decisions he made that brought them together this and all those other times. The big decisions like booking an act that would bring Athos to his club in 1924, and little ones like choosing to wear a coat that made him feel especially bold on that day he found Aramis stowed away in the hold of his ship in 1713. He’d have kissed Aramis eventually on that voyage, but he felt daring enough to try right away, and they’d had those few extra days together, those few extra days to figure out how to find Athos.

He wants them to know how much he feels, how overwhelming this all sometimes is. Then again, they already know; they live with it, too. Twisting to buckle his safety belt, Porthos smiles at Aramis in the back seat. “How fast do you think he can get us home?”

“Let him see that look in your eyes and let's find out.”

They’re barely inside the front door when Porthos hauls Athos to him, gripping him under his thighs and carrying him into the living room. With Aramis’ help, they soon have Athos spread beneath them, and the rest of the night is spent in the kind of pleasures that never grow old.

 

They might all have preferred to make the trip earlier, but Porthos has to cover someone’s shift, so it’s almost four before they pull up in front of the place Athos is trying not to think of as their new house.

D’Artagnan is unexpectedly warm and gracious as he greets the strangers who made yesterday afternoon awkward and painful, and who have shown up unannounced and uninvited today. He shows them in and reassures them that the wine will be perfect. Athos apologizes to their host for the fact that the other two seem to be bickering like twelve-year-olds at the moment.

“How long have you been together? If you don’t mind my asking.”

Athos smiles. He thinks about seeing Porthos’ hair white with rock dust at Sainte-Chapelle and white with age in their house in Hedeby. In his mind, he can picture Aramis’ hair whipping back from his face as he goads his horse on like he's planning to ride clear across Oklahoma in one go. He can picture it as easily as he sees Aramis laughing, leaning into the wind atop the t'gallant of the _Elodie_ , with the sun on his shoulders.

“On and off, forever.”

When Porthos’ arm slides around his hips, Athos feels warmth spreading out from the contact and he thinks again about how this moment doesn’t feel ordinary. It must be the house. He smiles at Porthos and gets a quick kiss as d’Artagnan and Aramis arrange the chairs at the outdoor seating area.

Porthos’ voice is warm at Athos’ ear. “Should we warn him that wine makes Aramis an even bigger flirt?”

Athos shakes his head. “Not unless he looks uncomfortable.”

Despite any fleeting concerns, d’Artagnan seems incredibly at ease with all of them. He lets Aramis flirt, and he laughs at Porthos’ stories, and he asks Athos fascinating questions about his work.

Something Porthos says startles a laugh out of Athos, and he can hear it echoing off the house. He hopes that all their nights together in this house are as good as this one. He tries to picture them out here on a chilly night, with the chairs pushed together and a few big blankets. It comes surprisingly quickly, Porthos and Aramis curled around each other and Athos snugged against Porthos’ back. Athos shakes off how easy it is to picture d’Artagnan there with them.

The sun is dipping and painting the city below them in oranges when d’Artagnan asks, “Another bottle?”

Aramis volunteers to help him while Athos and Porthos get the chiminea lit.

Watching them walk into the house, Porthos turns to Aramis. “Somehow his flirting always seems more shameless when you’re watching it from the outside.”

“From time to time I wonder if we should put a warning label on him.”

Crouched in front of the chiminea, Porthos flashes that devastating grin and laughs. “Should we just offer to come pick him up in the morning?”

Athos hums, unsure. “Not until d’Artagnan stops looking quite so confused about how we can possibly find him interesting.”

Turning to look through the window, Porthos can see Aramis step into d’Artagnan’s space. He shoots a look over at Athos. “Looks like we might not have to worry about that any—“ and then it’s there. It’s all there.

Porthos can see the empty glass slipping from Athos’ fingers even as his memory gives him Athos introducing their new brother. Even as his memory gives him the four of them twined together on the big bed in Athos’ house in Thebes. Tumbling after that is the memory of them sharing kisses after a battle. “I’m truly one of you, now,” their youngest had said, and Athos had tugged him close, kissing his soft mouth, heedless of the blood staining it. “You’ve always been one of us, beloved.” The first time. The time they can never remember well. The time when it was all of them.

All of them.

Athos’ glass shatters on the concrete.

Porthos can feel the lighter digging into his palm. “Fuck!”

Together, they rush to the kitchen to find Aramis calming d’Artagnan. Athos explains, the best he can, and holds d’Artagnan close, whispering endearments and reassurances and promises for the future.

They’d been right, all of them, even if they’d never spoken it to each other, even if they hadn’t known what or why. Something in this house had felt like home.

Porthos bends and kisses Aramis before wrapping himself around d’Artagnan from behind. Aramis strokes d’Artagnan’s hair and the three of them have him enveloped.

Sighing, Porthos presses a kiss to the skin behind d’Artagnan’s ear. “You've always been one of us,”

 


End file.
